#you know my love for Frond Files

[ratguy-nico]

carnies or the one-eyed snakes // vignette episodes or holiday episodes // Bob-centric or Linda-centric // seymour’s bay or bog harbor // thanksgiving episodes or halloween episodes // ship content or family fluff // erotic friend fictions or itty bitty ditties // season premieres or season finales // fanfic or fanart // Teddy’s truck or the Belcher’s station wagon // wagstaff staff or wagstaff student // burgers or pizza // Gayle/Fischoeder or Gayle/Frond // seasons 1-7 or seasons 8-14 // scream-i-cane or ferris wheel // food or music // good kuchi kopi or evil kuchi kopi

Bob’s Burgers: this or that?

Copy and paste the below text then bold your pick of this or that

carnies or the one-eyed snakes // vignette episodes or holiday episodes // Bob-centric or Linda-centric // seymour’s bay or bog harbor // thanksgiving episodes or halloween episodes // ship content or family fluff // erotic friend fictions or itty bitty ditties // season premieres or season finales // fanfic or fanart // Teddy’s truck or the Belcher’s station wagon // wagstaff staff or wagstaff student // burgers or pizza // Gayle/Fischoeder or Gayle/Frond // seasons 1-7 or seasons 8-14 // scream-i-cane or ferris wheel // food or music // good kuchi kopi or evil kuchi kopi

[cloudbattrolls]

You’ll Never Know (I Loved You So)

Nyzere Olorik || 6.4 sweeps

When Mmienu sparks, it’s a smooth silver glow wrapping around her, and she always taps her fingers three times against her thigh. Her pupils go bright, and her hair crackles slightly, tiny pinpoints of light flickering through her heavy braids.

You spark and it’s a dull, washed out purple, sluggish tendrils exuding from your horns like the bad effects in the creche movies. You can barely do light at all, and it’s not fair. You puff your cheeks out and she doesn’t even notice. 

“Nyeih!” You flop backwards in the dirt with a huff, getting your curls dirty - Yengei will have your carapace for it later - but nothing else’s working.

Her ears are dumb and short, but she looks down, with her silly tusks poking out of her frowning lips. You can see every pore, the tiny beads of sweat there, individual hairs on her head.

“Ná yo, Olo, you know better than that.”

“Souris.” 

She bites her lip to keep from laughing even as you slide backwards to get out of the way of her slap. Nobody else gets that face out of her, but they also don’t get her fronds quite so much.

“What’s it matter? E nyeih, Mimu. You’re all maroon, except Banshu. Banshu’s crazy anyway.”

“No nyieh, no souris. You want to sound Imperial? Or like an iceblood?”

“Souris’s not so bad.” You protest, shooting back up and waving your fronds. “Squeakbeasts are cute! Only dumb words, Mimu.”

“Whose facts are those, Olo?”

You hate that question every time. Mmienu’s barely half a sweep older, she hasn’t got the right, acting like she’s a jade or something.

“Icebloods’.” You mutter, digging your claws into the ground, watching the dry earth creep under them. Yengei’s going to scrub you like fury.

She boops your nose. “Right! Good troll!” You snap at it and push her -

- then you’re sitting and blinking, and Mmienu looks just as surprised as you do; the most surprising thing.

“What were we doing?” You ask, ears back. You can see her hesitate, the smallest twitch of her body, then she slumps.

“My...psi, it acted by itself...”

“What, no way.” 

It’s possible; Banshu can never stop making plants grow, and that’s why they’re insane. It can’t be Mmienu. She’s different. She's not allowed to go crazy.

 “Before it was just...” She shudders. “Olo, my psi isn’t really psiionics. It’s psychics.”

You flick dirt at her. “You’re not iceblooded! That can’t be.”

“Shut up.” She snaps, and you shuffle a few feet back. “I just made you forget what happened. That’s my power, and I’m nyeih, like you said, want to bleed me and check?!”

She breaks off and her eyes widen, the silver finally dying as you shakily get to your walkstubs.

“Oh, no, Olo, no, please...”

You run.

Nyzere Olorik || 7.3 sweeps

Yengei took it much better than you thought she would, the night you ran into the village half sobbing, half babbling about what Mmienu had told you. She had her lusus hold you, since yours was out hunting, and Yengei’s monkey father was long resigned to pupas crawling all over him. Or burying their faces in his fur.

Mmienu hated you at first, cold as an iceblood’s flesh, and you pretended it didn’t hurt when she pointedly sat on the other side of village gatherings, or when she left bugs in your recuperacoon.

Eventually she warmed to you again, and the pair of you went hunting and climbing like you’d done forever.

“Yengei says the Empire recruiters are coming in two perigees.” 

Mmienu’s on a much higher branch, and you have your smelling on, not your hearing. Your psi-glow fades and you ask her to repeat it - she does, singsong and mocking, asking you what your auriculars are even for. You just shrug.

“So? They came when we were six, too. Bet it’ll be the same. Maybe they’ll take Banshu this time, or Fuuloe. Nobody’ll miss them, except the beer trader.”

You want to like the beer trader - he’s nice, and his mongoose lusus is so pretty - but every time after he stops at your village, Banshu and Fuuloe fight, and it’s usually with each other, or with anyone who doesn’t get out of the way fast enough to avoid being clubbed with a bottle. Yengei says it’s just pitchflirting, but how can she be sure? She doesn’t seem to care much, as long as they clean up after. 

“Be serious, Olo. I’m eight now; they might try to take me.” 

You look up, bracing a hand on the trunk for support, frowning, shifting a little on the smooth bark beneath your walkstubs. 

“Not without testing you first, it wouldn’t be legal.” 

You know much better about psychics now; ever since Mimu’s confession, you’d watched every schoolfeed about them. You couldn’t always follow the words if they were in Standard or even French, but you understood the footage and the diagrams.

She huffs, flicks back a curl she’s letting out loose tonight, unlike her old heavy braids. She’s started filing her tusks, too, and you even sneaked her a better emery board for it.

“You’re such a grub sometimes. The icebloods don’t care what’s legal! They make the laws. None of us can do anything about it.”

The bitterness in her voice is jarring. Why does she hate high trolls so much? As far as you know, she’s never even met one.

You climb up to her level while sits with her arms crossed, and plunk down beside her.

“What’s up, Mimu? Don’t tell me nothing; you’ll stink like a barkbeast carcass.”

“You’re the most annoying troll ever.” She mutters, tapping her fingers against her thigh. You wait for a minute, and she sighs and relents.

“Two weeks back, a cerulean came to the village.”

“What! I don’t remember...” You trail off and she looks at you pointedly. You shuffle and flush in embarrassment.

“She was beautiful, sharp-horned with glossy headfluff and lacquered claws...I wanted to hate her, Olo, but how was I supposed to hate someone so pretty? She was only a sweep older than me, too, and she knew so many things. Yengei was pleased at how well we got along, and then...”

Her face sours like she’s just bitten into a papaya and found it full of flies.

“...Yengei tells me I’m supposed to go be her moirail, and that my powers belong to her now. She gave me away like a slab of hog meat, and I was supposed to step in line like a good little nyeih.” She spits. “All for more supplies for the village! Yengei can choke.”

Your whole body is rigid, and you hardly manage to shakily ask her what happened next.

“I didn’t cull her, stop looking like you turned to stone.” says Mmienu, waving a hand like the idea of culling a blueblood is nothing. “I made her forget, and everyone else. It’s fine.”

“Why did you have to make me forget?” You ask, hugging yourself, voice small. “I thought you trusted me, Mimu.”

She rolls her eyes, just starting to be flecked with maroon, and shakes her head, curls bouncing.

“Olo, I love you, but you’ve already proved how you handle things. Don’t take it personally.”

There’s nothing you can say to that, even if your pumper hadn’t crawled its way into your throat and killed your ability to speak.

Nyzere Olorik || 7.4 sweeps

Fuuloe’s blow nearly breaks your jaw; would’ve if Mmienu hadn’t shoved you out of the way in time, yelling at him fit to crack the heavens. You drop to the ground and scoot out of the way, as far as you can.

“Pisse-froid! Your lusus should’ve eaten you in the egg!”

Fuuloe’s lusus is cowering under a bench; he’s just a bay duiker, and he knows better than to get between troll fights after Fuuloe’s scrapped with Banshu so many times.

Mmienu tries to spark silver, but Fuuloe keeps swinging at her, and he has a head and fifty pounds on her, so she can’t afford to get hit. No time to focus on psychics.

Banshu’s already facedown in their psi’s albertisa flowers, groaning while their civet lusus licks their wounds. The rest of the village is out, or hiding in their hives; Fuuloe has no psi, but he hardly needs it when he towers like an indigo, and everyone would rather swallow live cichelids than get in Mmienu’s way.

You don’t know what happened, but turning on smell confirms your suspicion; Fuuloe reeks of alcohol, even more than Banshu does, and his eyes are a wild orange.

If only your sparks weren’t worthless in every other way. Not like Mmienu’s.

Unless.

You switch to sight, and you scan over Fuuloe until you find what you need.

“Hey, Fufu! Get over here, you nyeih, souris-pumpered basta - “

He barrels toward you, but the weakness you spotted in his ankle - imprinted with vine marks -  results in his heavy body thudding into the dirt as you yank on it and topple him, and Mmienu flares silver so bright you shut your bulbs.

When you open them again, blinking, Fuuloe’s bulbs are vacant. and his mouth’s open. A little blood trickles from it, dark red, but also drool. You shut your sight off, but every detail is still too vivid, too much. He’s breathing, ragged gasps like a downed animal, but...

“Get up, Olo. I need you to help me tell Yengei.”

Mmienu’s grim tones help you get back to the wider world, and you stumble to your feet. A sick, dreadful feeling creeps through you.

“What did you do, Mmienu...?”

She flushes maroon and looks away.

“I had to, Olo. He was going to cull us. Look at Banshu; they’re half dead themself. I saved us.”

You don’t understand, but you feel even sicker somehow, and you look back at the prone troll...

“Fuuloe?”

It’s the gentlest you’ve ever spoken to him. Fuuloe’s a drunk, obnoxious waste of slurry, but he never failed to bring in plenty of food, or to help patch a hive roof when it was needed. He’s still a villager, and you’ve known him your whole life.

His ragged breathing is your only reply.

Your ears flatten all the way to your neck, and your own breathing becomes shallow with fear.

“No. Mmienu, no. You didn’t.”

She’s crying, and there’s no more silver glow, only the burgundy of her tears.

Nyzere Olorik || 7.5 sweeps

The Imperial recruiters are dressed in crisp red and black in the morning’s faded gray sky, no gray or maroon to be seen, but you can only watch from a peephole that Yengei’s letting you use. It’s stuffy in her hive, since she shut the windows and drew the curtains. Your knees are starting to fall asleep from kneeling on the hard plastic floor.

She says the imps will cull you if you get too close, and you really want to see what happens, so you only nodded.

Mmienu’s practically unrecognizable, standing so stiff you could hang meat on her, as the other trolls chatter. Even with hearing on, you can’t make it out too well; it’s a mess of Standard, with some rapid French and occasional Nafaanra, mostly from Yengei. 

Mmienu is eerily silent. Has been for nearly a perigee, ever since she wiped away everything in Fuuloe’s pan. Banshu left him for the hogs and the leopards, and everyone pretended that there were no streaks of bronze on their face when they came back from the forest.

They never smell of beer anymore.

The worst part is that Mmienu doesn’t blame you. You asked, and you know when she’s lying. She wasn’t tapping her fingers on her thigh, either; Yengei’d skin her if she did, and you trust her anyway, even if you know she could just make you forget it.

She didn’t. That’s what matters.

You wish she’d blame you. You wish she’d blame you, Fuuloe, Banshu, Yengei, anyone else - just not her. It wasn’t her fault.

If it wasn’t her fault, she wouldn’t have to go.

“...excellent! You’ll be taken to the testing facility tomorrow night. Here are your papers, and your luggage bags..”

You have to try very hard to not make any noise. 

They finally drift away, and Yengei puts a hand on Mmienu’s shoulder, steering her back in the hive. It’s a punch in the thorax, seeing her this way.

Yengei runs a hand down her face as they walk inbefore looking at you. “Pahuwa wè sɛ́, Nyzere. Don’t try to fight this, for the love of the ancestors, if you’ve any sense. Say your goodbyes now, because you can’t do it next evening.”

It’s been so long since anyone called you by your hatchnames you barely think about yours. You’d practically forgotten Mmienu’s. 

You sniff, even though you know she’ll hate it. You hardly notice Yengei leaving; your bulbs are only for the maroon in front of you.

“You better be really good.” You say, trying not to cry. “The best. Better than all the icebloods.”

She still doesn’t say anything.

“Mimu...please don’t make me forget you.”

“You want to be sad, Nyzere? You want to keep being weak your whole life? Is that what you want?” She snarls, but you don’t care. Olive-lime tears are running down your face, out your sniffsponge.

“I want you. But I know...” You suck in a breath and continue.  “That can’t happen. So please...let me keep this.”

For a moment you think she’s going to strike you, but her hand falls and she looks so, so tired.

“Fine. I’m erasing my own when I get there. Don’t try to find me.”

Your pumper leaps.

“You mean - you mean you know it’s my fault? Mimu, I knew you’d realize, I - “

“Shut up!” Her clenched fists and bared fangs make you wish you were shorter than her, make you wish you could sink into the floor.

“It’s not your fault, so stop acting like it. This would’ve happened anyway. I was a rot-pan for trying to shake it off. It’s the only way you can be safe. Don’t you get it?”

Now she’s shaking, her voice wobbling like a rock about to fall off a very, very high cliff.

You hug her so hard you hear her wheeze, and then she pushes you off. 

“Olo..don’t make this harder than it has to be.” She mutters.

“You might forget me, but I’ll never forget you, even until I die and the leopards eat me, I’ll still remember the way you’re a mean little souris.”

She half-laughs, half-groans.

“Only you could make that less obnoxious.”

You can still barely do light, but you do it for her.

The shape of a mouse.

Nyzere Olorik || 8.5 sweeps

In the half sweep since she left, your eyes have filled in lime-olive, and the other villagers told Yengei you needed to leave for everyone’s safety. Banshu eyed you with a predator’s appraisal, and you didn’t fight as it became official. 

You’ve traveled since, relying on your psi and wits to survive, meeting all kinds of trolls. 

Now you’re at a fleet training center for pre-ascension recruits. You’re confident in your disguise; you look perfectly nyeih, except for your height, but you know how to be non-threatening.

A few hours’ wait, feeding pigeons bread while carefully scanning the campus, and your patience is rewarded.

You hardly recognize her; her ridged horns are filed smooth, her tusks clipped back, and her hair has been cut short. You almost don’t believe it’s her, her eyes fully maroon now, but she laughs the exact same way.

She taps her thigh.

You wander near enough to her that her head darts toward you automatically, but then moves to the next face. No recognition. You can tell she’s not hiding it; she’d be angry you were here, fists clenched. She laughs at someone’s joke, booping their nose.

You turn away, whistling softly.

Pahuwa will be fine.

[ratguy-nico]

People so sorry for yestarday I was in a low moment but colapsing actually help, I haven't slept this well in months... well, to be honest, I have hardly slept at all 😅

My brain doesn't take well good news so i was happy saturday and sunday my brain was like Why are you happy? You dont have to be happy, this is not about you. So yeah, my brain hates me.

But today Im much more better so about the piece. Is obviousley not finish, but let me describe a little of the process and refences and why this outfits were choosed.

The first one (bottom one) is for The Frond Files, and by now you have may notice I really like Gene's segment on this episode so I think it doesn't need further explanation. Gene Long Hair Supremacy.

Second one, in early seasons this was Gene fancy outfit and I actually really miss it. I remeber being 12 and dreaming to have a tuxedo t-shirt, I dont know why I though it was the coolest thing ever XD and the hair, damn, this is one of my fav Gene's hair (yeah I have an actual list of favorite Gene's hair leave me alone) and maybe cause of the hair I was trying to give it a Draco Malfoy little sassy spoiled brat vibe. My girl is a diva. Both of my girls.

Third one (depending on the angle) I really like mini chef Gene XD dunno why, he's not gonna inherit the restaurant and even if he loves fancy food he's not that into cooking but I love a chefsito moment. But I choose it mostly for the pose that actually come straigh from this frame:

And a fun fact this is from "Something Old, Something New, Something Bob Caters for You" (one of my favs episode of all times) (season 8 you will always be precious for me) and it actually doesn't appear on the episode XD I was so conviced that it did. I have seen that episode a hundred time and I was like whaaat?

So yeah love the pose, super sad that it didn't make it to the final cut.

Fourth one Girls being Girls being Girls doesn't need to be explain is one of the most iconic Gene looks, she's a Diva, she's a girl that knows what she wants and she's not gonna take no for an anwser cause she knows she's a Star.

The last one comes from "Tina Tailor Soldier Spy" and for me is just the most Gene outfit ever, not inherently feminine (even though is literally from a girl's garbage) is not masculine either but is super campy, is just a unique mix of a bunch of things that shouldn't work but it does cause is all Gene, and they can pull off anything.

Finally the secret... one of the things I love the most about Gene is the fact that Gene is Gene XD She is a girl. He is a boy. They are any of the above in and out of menu.

And for me is not a headcanon is something that the serie has made very clear, and yeah of course Gene is only 11, and what? I knew I was trans at 7 and try to tell my family at 12 so yeah, I don't know how age is an impediment for you to know who you are.

And the fact than Gene is unapologetically Geneself is what makes me fall in love with them over and over again every fricking time.

So yeah. Happy Geneuary, I love Gene, i don't know if you notice.

People if being honest I didn't want to posted this draw at all, in fact I almost deleted the whole thing 😅

No joking I change the BG like 20 times. I was gonna post just the lineart even if the flat coloring was done, then I was just gonna post the scketch, and finally said fuck it and just didn't look at the drawing the whole day and right before going to bed, posted it trying to not look at it so my brain would not go rampage mode.

Of course Im not happy with it I think you are already use to this shitty behavior from me but this time is not only because of the execution but the idea itself didn't convince me, I select what I thought were the most iconic Gene looks without really thinking about it, just put the first thing that came to mind.

Actually the Jessica one, from "Tina Tailor Soldier Spy" was a last addition.

So yeah I was working on it and start like... Wait you didn't drew Beef Squatch, you didn't put the movie final outfit? you didn't put Cheerleading Gene? The Runway Club? YOU DIDN'T PUT THE OUTFIT THAT MADE YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH GENE IN THE FIRST PLACE? (Banjo outfit from "Spaghetti Western and Meatballs" Season 1... yeah I fell in love quickly, Im an easy man)

So yeah it was like why I didn't thought this through T^T but hey... no positive shit I could add except that I really like how the secret turned out XD but very glad you actually like it.

Sorry you have to deal with my shitty attitud I should learn to shut up and just let you enjoy but is so frutating cause I don't understand why you would like what I made? It just doesn't make sense. Im sorry, really. I will try to be more positive in the future or at least try to not say how I feel.

Geneuary prompt Fashion/Secret

So...yeah... flat colors, no render, a mask of color and about the secret:

[bwicblog]

Over in #highbloods, Bijoux, Vadaya, Kua, and Merrem sit and discuss pale promiscuisity, the risk of getting scabies, Kua's horrifying teeth, Merrem's horrifying dining habits, and if anyone is allowed in on Bijoux and Vadaya's in-jokes. (No.)

[dirtanddecadence]

>>> The Swamp Magic Necklace <<< Damn y’all, super floored by the response to those hoops I shared yesterday 🙏💗 sometimes I really forget you all don’t know the pieces I’ve made as intimately as I do 😂 or maybe you just started to follow along - so I figured I’d share another piece from that same mini collection. It’s not a big deal, it’s just probably the piece I’m the most proud of/in love with that I’ve ever made, totally casual. It’s a very serious, one of a kind pendant necklace that honors so many of the elements from my Magic of the Swamp - Light Collection, and then some. 🌿 Each plant meticulously hand fabricated out of sterling silver sheet and wire, hand drawn, sawed, filed, textured, and formed, to bring them to life. The plants depicted include, one large Palmetto Palm frond at the base (base texture made by rolling a found swamp feather into the sterling, then hand textured), with two Water Lily flowers resting a top of it. On the left side of the murky swamp stone, I have created a small batch of water Elephant Ears/Taro Plants, and a Cattail plant. On the right side of the stone, I created a grouping of Cypress Knees and one of my most favorite plants, a Spider Lily!! All of these elements given a high contrast black background, as if the plants are illuminated in a night swamp scene. But it doesn't end there. On the reverse side of the pendant, an alligator silhouette has been hand sawed out to show off the back side of the stone, and keep the keeper of the swamp close to your heart. My makers branding, as well as the 925 stamp, are atop a lone silver lily pad at the base of the pendant. Hung from a handmade bail with stamping consistent with most other pieces in this release. Truly the perfect swamp talisman. 🌿 It was made and sold in the spring of 2019 🌿🐊✨<<< * * * * * * #ssh #silverstallionhandmade #handmade #handmadejewelry #nature #naturejewelry #natureinspiredjewelry #silver #sterlingsilver #sterlingsilverjewelry #riojeweler #silversmith #louisiana #neworleans #swamp #magicoftheswamplightcollection #alligator #palmetto #elephantears #cypress #cattail #spiderlily #waterlily #pendant #necklace #ooak (at Jean Lafitte Swamp National Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAWfxayFeXf/?igshid=38erifximzui

[tacosandtouchtanks]

Hey there! You are very welcome!

And thank you very much for your explanation! That is very interesting. Maybe you are right about Tina being more interested in the experience.

"I really shot myself in the foot by making this from Zeke’s perspective, especially since I didn’t properly convey that Tina’s not into Jimmy Jr., but the idea that it’s her last day in town and maybe this will be like one of those fantasies."

Oh! I didn't catch on that. So sorry! But that really is the thing with writing from only ones perspective. Some information are not available to the character and so not to the reader (even though it might just have been me who hasn't caught it, does not mean you did a bad job, <insert a short tangent about communication and sending and receiving>). Good news though, that is a learning experience either way plus you could always just write the same fic from the other persons perspective? Two fics for the price of one plot!

But if Tina just wanted the experience then yes your fic makes a lot of sense and I just missed out on that. It even makes more sense that she would be "just" sad because even if not romantically interested anymore, JJ was (is) a huge part of her life and a last day with him would have been something she wanted to experience. It also explains why she could move on to another romantic aspect.

Anyway, let's be honset, what she got was so much better.

I think you are also right that a big part of Tinas infatuation with JJ is really the whole Star-Crossed-Lovers thing, the idea of them overcoming their dads antagonism with the power of love. She is a romantic at her very core and like many hopes for the big romace to swoop her off her feet.

I also agree with being still childish in your 20s. I honestly still don‘t feel like an adult but there is still a difference between 13 and 20 as there will be a difference between 20 and 25 and 30.

Also romance is a very personal thing and so whoever writes it is right about it in their own unique way and some people get over heartache faster than others... so whenever I disagree with something like that it's very much my own experience mixed into it XD. Sorry about that.

That being said I don't think it's childish to hope that your ex breaking up with on the 1st April is just a very unfunny joke. I'm sure you wouldn't have been the first that had to experience that. I'm still sorry to hear that it was true and that you got your heart broken. 💔

To get back to the Jimmy/Tina thing and her romantic/emotinal/fantasy interest, we can't forget about Tinas physical attraction. Because it is obviously there. Jimmy Jr. is tall and (apparently) handsome and has (apparently) a good body and can dance. She says herself she has a type but is also kind of distraught about it ("Ain't Miss Debating" is having that).

I really think that huge part about why it took Tina so long to consider Zeke as a potential partner is excatly that, the huge difference in physical appearance.

I want to say it's absolutely fine to be attracted at first sight. It's fine to have a type. You see a human and you will experience a positive or a negative reaction. The important thing is to get past that and experience the humans personality too.

Anyway Zeke is - compared to Jimmy Jr. - small, brown haired and compact. Also it's not really clear but I guess his ass is not as definite?

So, I really think that the fact that JJ is (apparently) attractive helped in her swooning.

Which brings me to another point.

"Did she actually know any of those boys or is it the idea, the fantasy she’s playing in her head, that she likes? I could be completely off base here!"

Actually, she "knows" all of the boys in her fantasy/song. I don't have my screenshots with me right now, but at least in all the closer pictures we can recognise all the boys. There are for example the Basketball Playing Zombie Boyfriends from her story ("The Frond Files"), which are obviously fake as well as Jeff the Ghost ("Tina and the real ghost") who is there in his box, but we also see Darryl, Jimmy Jr, I think Duncan, Nathan the guy from the episode "Beefsquatch", Jordan (Ghost Boy) from the episode "The Landship" and many more.

The thing that stands most out to me is that neither Henry Haber nor Zeke have an appearance in that fantasy.

What exactly that means is hard to say. She actually dated Henry, but had no physical attraction to him even though she knew he was basically a good boyfriend to her. And it's up to debate if at that point Tina already considered Zeke an option. They had kissed, which is more than she did with Henry but that was while they played Spin the bottle.

So yeah, take that information and maybe someone other has an idea what that means. I am stuck.

Last but not least... meta analysis. I have two tags for you here:

https://tacosandtouchtanks.tumblr.com/tagged/analysis

https://tacosandtouchtanks.tumblr.com/tagged/meta

both are... kind of empty.

I don't think there is a lot of analysis out there so I can just offer to write some?

As you can see here... I love to write about all kinds of aspects about Bobs Burgers and shipping. So if you have any questions, any ideas for which episodes I should have a closer look at, just send an ask I'll probably write a whole essay. It could help to give another perspective than your own.

compared to that if anyone wants to write something or has written something, tell me! I love to link to it/reblog it.

So, everyone stay safe, stay healthy, keep in touch! Bai!

I love Maybe In Thyme on AO3!

Maybe in Thyme by Babs0987

Summary: Tina's heart broke, and she stitched it back together in front of him. He watched it a million times before, but it never got easier to see. “I know I’m not who you were expecting, but would you like company? We can get ice cream.”

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Category: F/M Relationship: Tina Belcher/Zeke (Bob's Burgers) Characters: Tina Belcher, Zeke (Bob's Burgers), Jimmy Pesto Jr. Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff, fluffy with a smidge of angst, not JJ bashing but he does make poor decisions, set two years after they graduate high school Published: 2021-06-04 Words: 4808

I agree! It's a great story. In the end it didn't make the cut because for me - personally - it was lacking something.

Personally I wasn't 100% aboard the characterization and I am no fan of Tina immediately turning to Zeke after it is over with Jimmy Jr.

It might work as a teen, we see it in the show quite often, Tina getting over JayJu quite fast... but in the fic Tina is... 19 or 20? and then the heartache becomes stronger. Especially if it's your last evening at home and the boy you want to see it not appearing and not even sending a message.

That does not mean it's wrong or bad or something, it's just not something I enjoy that much reading xD

Even though this story is self aware of that. So kudos for that!

But I love Zeke and Tinas interactions in that fanfiction I love how comfortable they are with each other. And I love the idea of them having cocktails from a drive through (I wish we had that here), Zeke struggling with lactose and making a mix tape (or CD) for Tina. That is very in Character.

The ending is kind of open and not a cliche happy end of them trying the long distance...

So yeah, overall I agree but for a few small reasons it didn't make the cut for me. XD

But everyone else, go check it out! Absolutely!

Thank you anon!

[scurvgirl]

3,4,5,9,11 for The Woods?

Under the cut for length!

3.What’s your favorite line of narration?

It’s been awhile, the file page count is over 70 pages, but through a quick scan, I found this bit.

The thick canopy above blots outmost of the light, creating darkness in the middle of the day. The brush itselfis tall and hides her well as she stalks forward. Soft fronds shield her fromsight, water sloshes around her boots and a humid air clings to her skin.

Another hiss. The beast must bedefensive right now. Miriel stalks forward with her bow, arrow ready to belaunched if need be. She doesn’t really want to kill the thing. It’s lived hererather peacefully and by itself for as long as her people have. It eats thedeer, sits in its land, and otherwise doesn’t cause too much trouble unlessthreatened.

Her father encountered it oncebefore, and he spoke of how it was easy to escape simply because it wasuninterested in fighting an elf. He suggested that it too was scarred fromliving under Andruil and it simply wanted peace.

Miriel climbs up a tree and scansthe area. It can’t get to her here – at least she doesn’t think it can. It’sgot hooves on its hind legs, or so her father said, so climbing isn’t going tohappen. She looks back towards where the rest of the group is and sees no signsof the beast.

But there goes another rumble.And a low growl, warbled and old sounding. Miriel shifts in her perch to lookdown to her right to see the beast crouching in the brush. It’s massive and yetit looks thinner than it should. One of its horns has broken off at some pointand she thinks it’s missing an ear.

Poor thing. Its remaining ear ispressed flat against its head and it bares its teeth at her, tail whippingagainst the ground behind it. It scrunches up its body in a defensive position.It’s scared more than anything.

4.  What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

“I am perfectly agreeable when I want to be, I’ll have youknow,” she says. Darevas chuckles and returns his gaze to her.

“It’s the when you want to be that gets you in trouble.”

“You make it sound like I’m incorrigible.”

Sanaste snorts, “That’s because you are.”

And

“Surprised?”

“I…don’t know. You are much morehandsome than I was expecting.”

He grins and there is such puremirth in his face that has her breath catching for a moment, “You find mehandsome?”

She turns from him, blushing,“And water is wet, my lord.”

“Oh no, no, no. I’m Darevaswithout the mask, none of that ‘my lord’ business.”

“A mask makes the lord, then?”

5. What part was hardest to write?

The fight scene in the cave, definitely. It took me a while to get all the details nailed in my head, and longer to get them typed out and making sense. 

9. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Uh, not that I know of? It’s one of the few instances of my writing where I had a clear idea of what I wanted the general plot to be and I wrote it. The only alternate version that could have happened is if Miriel had opted to stay with Darevas at the end instead of leaving for Ama’lan. And the River AU is based on this, if that counts.

11. What do you like best about this fic?

I like that it’s largely completed. There’s an epilogue I want to write but it’s not critical, it’s more of “and five years later” sort of deal. I feel accomplished with it, which is a big thing. I enjoyed getting to write plot heavy but also pre-romance heavy content, it’s really what I love to write the most and sometimes I forget that. It’s really fun writing adventure with romance, and even more fun when I feel like I reach the goals I set for myself with it. I also really enjoyed the personal relationships I got to write. I got to explore more of Miriel and Darevas as well as seeing Uthvir through the lens of someone who does not know them. It was nice. 

Thanks for the ask!

[wincestious]

Okay I swear your artwork is amazing like literally, you are now one of my top five favorite artists on Tumblr. Also, I saw that you sometimes answer requests? If you do, could you please (like I'm begging on my knees please) draw Demon!Sam and Angel!Dean just going out for a really cheesy date? (The more bad puns the better). Thanks for reading this! Have a nice day!

Dean frowned.

Why?

Because, Sam - although being taken on a perfectly cheesy, romantic, share-a-fucking-milkshake date - was frowning, glaring down at his hand and staring solemnly at the ketchup as if it was the one to fling him from heaven.  Dean found the whole brooding thing quite offensive, and propped one naked foot onto the booth seats and leaned further into his brother.

“Hey, uh, Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome, what’s with the long face?”  He asked, laying his head on Sam’s shoulder and Sam gave him a passive side glance.  The demon proceeded to then have the audacity to look around the mostly empty diner, as if Dean could have possibly been speaking to someone else.

“Yeah, you - the only ‘Tall, Dark, and Handsome’ around,” when assured he had Sam’s attention, he continued, although the demon looked to still only be half listening, “I have you here on this awesomely romantic, classic milk shake date, and you’re still all this.”  And with that word he gestured to his face, to the faux grim frown, and Sam’s eyebrow quirked.

“What ever do you mean?”  Sam drawled, resting his cheek on one fist and Dean found that better than Broody-Mc-Pouty-face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you not here for the last thirty minutes of me babbling about how weird human toes were?  Because I was legit doing that.  Hell - you agreed to paint my nails, and to let me braid your hair you were so distracted.”  Dean said, threw one hand out in exasperation, and Sam chuckled.  Improvement, at least.

“I was just thinking on how to rid myself of one certain destroyer of my ‘bad assery’.”  Sam quoted Dean’s previous words, and Dean gave him an amused glance.

“Oh, yeah?”  Dean asked, looking up into Sam’s black eyes - he noted how Sam stopped hiding them now, and that was something that made Dean’s heart flip more times than necessary - and Sam shot him a small smirk.

“Yeah, I figured if I’m to go all out, I need to really perfect my image.”

“Dye your hair black, that’ll help.”

Sam seemed to ponder that a moment, looking up to the ceiling and Dean near giggled at the serious look of contemplation.  “There’s a thought.”  Sam finally said, stroking his chin and Dean turned onto his knees, leaning over into Dean’s lap and hands resting on Sam’s knees.

“Oh, maybe file your teeth too, get them pointy - also, why not we get you some tear drop tattoos?”

“Black lipstick?”  Sam shot back, and Dean nodded with a hissed laugh.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.  You’ll be on everyone’s fuck list.”

“Hm…”  Sam stroked his chin again, “well if I’m going all out then shouldn’t you do so as well?”  Sam eyed him, and Dean quirked a brow.

“Aren’t I already?  I mean, look at this face - totally innocuous and trustworthy.”

“Yes, but..”  Sam leaned forward, tracing Dean’s lips and cheeks.  “Why not a little bit of pink lipstick, maybe some rosy red blush for your nose and cheeks - become a pretty princess to stand for the ‘truly good’.”  Sam quoted that, scoffing, and Dean personally felt that one.  

Seemed these days the ‘good guys’ were all sorts of assholes.

“Okay, but - then you hafta’ buy yourself a nice leather outfit, complete with chains and choker.”  Dean said, eyeing Sam and trying - and failing miserably - to picture Sam in a gaudy trench coat littered with chains and upside down crosses.

“Then you’ll have to put on a nice, frilly pink dress.”

“Fuck you, I’d look fabulous.  You’d look like a giant poser dork.”

Sam pulled a face, thought a moment, then nodded, agreeing.  “You have a point, there.”

“Course’ I do, I’m always sorta right, in case you haven’t noticed.”  Dean said, tossing an old, soggy fry at Sam’s face and laughing when the demon threw a projectile of his own - a fry that had sat out even longer than Dean’s, resting so elegantly in the liquid that steadily perspired from their milkshake.

“Oh - yes, you’ve never been wrong before - that’s why your garrison almost caught you with me when you decided going to a fucking church to have your weird fantasies play out was a good idea.”  Sam hissed through his teeth, playfully glaring down at Dean and Dean couldn’t rebuttal that one as well as he would’ve liked to.  His face flared red, ears burning and he looked to the side, glaring a moment at the lovely family seated some tables away from them.

They all looked to be having such a nice time, perfect wife, perfect husband, perfect two kids and whatever amount on the way, and Dean childishly stuck his tongue out at the youngest child when it stopped smashing it’s pancakes with grubby fingers to look at them with wide eyes.

“Hey, Dean, you know I’m messing with you, right?”  Sam said, face worried and Dean turned to look back at him with a reddened face and mix of playful hurt.

“B-but, Sammy, you know I don’t kink shame you, a-and the thought that you -” he broke off there, pitching his tone high and stuttering for effect only to have the demon give him an unimpressed curve of brow.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”  Sam deadpanned and Dean’s face instantly turned sour, puckering his lips in a pout.

“What if I cry?”

“I’ll salt your wounds.”  Sam gestured dangerously to the salt sitting all innocent like on the table and Dean gulped, flopping onto Sam’s lap fully now and finding comfort in the dark trap between table and Sam’s jean clad thighs.

“Spoil sport.”

“Kinky fucker.”

“You’re kinkier.”  Dean shot back, all childlike-eloquence, and Sam could only shrug a shoulder at that.

“You got me there.”

“Yeah, and you got me here right now, so let’s go back to discussing how exactly I’m going to braid your pretty hair.”

“I didn’t agree to that-”

“Oh, but you did, now, do you want the dutch braid, or the french braid?”

“Neither.”

Dean just grinned devilishly, because Sam had to rest his eyes sometimes - humans had some things down correctly, and sleep was pretty bad ass when you needed a break from heaven-hell politics.

And the second Sam deemed it time to take a break?  Dean would so be ready with the perfect tutorials to have Sam waking the prettiest demon of the bunch.

-

THERES NO PUNS BC IM TERRIBLE BUT HERE ENJOY MY FROND

also hehehehe glad u like my stuff, makes my cold ded artist heart all fuzzy on the inside :’)

[noloveforned]

back with a new year and the first show hits wlur at 5pm today... tune in to see if i settled on a new theme (i better).

we wrapped up our 2018 shows with our twenty-year time machine a few weeks back. i played my favorite stuff from 1998 instead and you can check it out below!

no love for ned on wlur – december 12th, 2018 from 5-8pm

artist // track // album // label the bevis frond // he had you // north circular // flydaddy knife in the water // one sound // plays one sound and others // (self-released) bedhead // more than ever // transaction de novo // trance syndicate arab strap // new birds // philophobia // matador cat power // cross bones style // moon pix // matador dirty three // backwards voyager // ocean songs // touch and go transona five // no door // duffel bag // sandwich belle and sebastian // sleep the clock around // the boy with the arab strap // matador elliott smith // waltz #2 (xo) // xo // dreamworks they might be giants // doctor worm // severe tire damage // restless the jesus and mary chain // i love rock 'n' roll // munki // sub pop lambchop // it's not alright // what another man spills // merge flin flon // ukraina // a-ok // teenbeat sloan // iggy and angus // navy blues // murderecords jenny mae // hey baby // don't wait up for me // anyway the minders // now i can smile // black balloon 7" // little army the green pajamas // shock of blonde // all clues lead to megan's bed // camera obscura neutral milk hotel // two-headed boy // in the aeroplane over the sea // merge billy bragg and wilco // she came along to me // mermaid avenue // elektra califone // silvermine pictures // califone ep // flydaddy hayden // the closer i get // the closer i get // outpost bonfire madigan // snowfell summer // ...from the burnpile // kill rock stars the ida retsin family // tales of brave ida // volume one // muss my hair bright eyes // contrast and compare // letting off the happiness // saddle creek destroyer // no cease fires (crimes against the state of our love, baby) // city of daughters // triple crown the mendoza line // molly, please stop touching me // like someone in love // kindercore pernice brothers // monkey suit // overcome by happiness // sub pop pulp // a little soul // this is hardcore // island the spinanes // kid in candy // arches and aisles // sub pop versus // dumb fun // two cents plus tax // caroline the lucksmiths // untidy towns // untidy towns 7" // drive-in busytoby // me, my drums and you // me, my drums and you 7" // parasol the teacups // count to ten // this will come back to haunt you // kindercore tullycraft // eight great ways // city of subarus // darla bunnygrunt // wild summer, wow! // jen-fi // happy happy birthday to me the rondelles // he's outta sight // fiction, romance, fast machines // smells like gaze // peeking shows his ignorance // mitsumeru // k the magnetic fields // i don't believe you // i don't believe you 7" // merge holland // beep, kiss // coughing up stars ep // audioinformationphenomena dump // my head in your hands // a plea for tenderness // brinkman eric metronome // the unwanted numbers // lime green cassette // ((tape-tape)) a boy named thor // twenty-one // a boy named thor // blackbean and placenta tape club liz phair // perfect world // whitechocolatespaceegg // capitol doleful lions // motel swim // motel swim // parasol vic chesnutt and lambchop // until the led // the salesman and bernadette // velocette of montreal // one of a very few of a kind // the bedside drama: a petite tragedy // kindercore unbunny // lottery // the willis files // -esque masters of the hemisphere // everybody knows canada // masters of the hemisphere // kindercore the gerbils // fluid // are you sleepy // hidden agenda mary lou lord // she had you // got no shadow // work

[obaewankenope]

When you were a tadpole and I was a fish,

     In the Paleozoic time,

And side by side on the ebbing tide

     We sprawled through the ooze and slime,

Or skitted with many a caudal flip

     Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,

My heart was rife with the joy of life,

     For I loved you even then.

Mindless we lived and mindless we loved,

     And mindless at last we died;

And deep in the rife of the Caradoc drift

     We slumbered side by side.

The world turned on in the lathe of time,

     The hot lands heaved amain.

Till we caught our breath from the womb of death,

     And crept into light again.

Then light and swift through the jungle trees

     We swung our airy flights,

Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms,

     In the hush of the moonless nights.

And oh! what beautiful years were these

     When our hearts clung each to each;

When life was filed, and our senses thrilled

     In the first faint dawn of speech.

I was thewed like an Auroch Bull,

     And tusked like a great Cave Bear;

And you, my sweet, from head to feet,

     Were gowned in your glorious hair.

Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave, 

     When the night fell o'er the plain,

And the moon hung red o'er the river bed,

     We mumbled the bones of the slain.

I carved that fight on a reindeer bone,

     With a rude and hairy hand,

I pictured his fall on the cavern wall

     That men might understand.

For we lived by blood, and the right of might,

     Ere human laws were drawn,

And the age of sin did not begin

     Till our brutal tusks were gone.

And that was a million years ago,

     In a time that no man knows;

Yet here tonight in the mellow light,

     We sit at Delmonico's;

Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,

     Your hair is as dark as jet,

Your years are few, your life is new,

     Your soul untried, and yet—

Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay, 

     And the scrap of the Purbeck flags,

We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones,

     And deep in the Coraline crags;

Our love is old, our lives are old,

     And death shall come amain;

Should it come today, what man may say

     We shall not live again?

The St. Louis Star and Times, Missouri, November 4, 1910

[soundrenaissance]

Bob's Burgers Music Album Coming This May

by Dillon Price on February 28, 2017

You may know Bob’s Burgers as that quirky animated sitcom about the Belcher family and their burger joint on Ocean Ave. Now The Bob’s Burgers Music Album will drop on May 12 via Sub Pop Records (pre-order MP3 / CD / Vinyl ) and will feature 112 tracks. The album includes music from The National, St. Vincent, Cindi Lauper, John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, Loren Bouchard and many more. The Bob’s Burger theme song will open the album. You can stream it below. Also watch the instructional video on unboxing the 3LP vinyl and see the full tracklist.  

    Bob’s Burgers Music Album Tracklist 1. “The Bob’s Burgers Theme Song” (instrumental) Various 1:02 Bob’s Burgers 2. “Lifting up the Skirt of the Night” “Sheesh! Cab, Bob?” 1:10 John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, & Bob’s Burgers 3. “Butts, Butts, Butts” “Art Crawl” 0:27 John Roberts, Loren Bouchard, Jim Dauterive, Tobias Frost, Chuck Smith, Matt Beville, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 4. “Theme from Banjo” “Spaghetti Western and Meatballs” 0:37 H. Jon Benjamin, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 5. “Da Ding Ding” “Burger War” 1:06 Eugene Mirman, H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 6. “Pirates of Panache” “Hamburger Dinner Theater” 0:16 H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Larry Murphy, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 7. “Weekend at Mort’s” “Weekend at Mort’s” 0:40 Kristen Schaal, John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 8. “Sex Music” Multiple episodes 0:19 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 9. “Wingman” “Lobsterfest” 0:36 Ron Lynch, Sam Seder, & Bob’s Burgers 10. “Taffy Butt” “The Belchies” 1:18 Cyndi Lauper & Bob’s Burgers 11. “Getting Out of P.E.” “Synchronized Swimming” 0:26 Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, Holly Schlesinger, Chris Maxwell, & Bob’s Burgers 12. “Groping for Glory” “Burgerboss” 1:18 John Roberts & Bob’s Burgers 13. “Oil Spill” “Food Truckin'” 0:35 Megan Mullally & Bob’s Burgers 14. “One Way or Another” (Blondie cover) “Dr. Yap” 0:56 Megan Mullally & Bob’s Burgers 15. “The Prince of Persuasia” “Dr. Yap” 1:26 Rob Huebel, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 16. “Bad Girls” (original version) “Bad Tina” 0:32 Holly Schlesinger, Nora Smith, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 17. “You Got Beefsquatched” “Beefsquatch” 0:39 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 18. “Milkin’ the Cow” “Beefsquatch” 0:37 Eugene Mirman, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 19. “Fun! Fun! Fun! Fun!” “Bob Fires the Kids” 0:28 Eugene Mirman, Holly Schlesinger, Nora Smith, Loren Bouchard, Wendy Molyneux, Lizzie Molyneux, & Bob’s Burgers 20. “Parakeet in Your Hat” “Bob Fires the Kids” 1:26 Bill Hader, John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, & Bob’s Burgers 21. “Kill the Turkey” “An Indecent Thanksgiving Proposal” 0:55 John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, & Bob’s Burgers 22. “The Diarrhea Song” “Tina-Rannosaurus Wrecks” 0:37 John Roberts, Eugene Mirman, & Bob’s Burgers 23. 1B “Silent Love” “The Unbearable Like-Likeness of Gene” 1:15 Eugene Mirman, H. Jon Benjamin, Kristen Schaal, Dan Mintz, David Wain, John Michael Higgins, & Bob’s Burgers 24. “Silent Muffler” “The Unbearable Like-Likeness of Gene” 0:18 Holly Schlesinger, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 25. “The Harry Truman Song” “Mother Daughter Laser Razor” 0:35 John Roberts & Bob’s Burgers 26. “Daddy/The Itsy Bitsy Stripper” “Nude Beach” 1:14 Fred Armisen, Larry Murphy, H. Jon Benjamin, Eugene Mirman, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 27. “Sex Sex Sex Sex Sex” “Nude Beach” 0:40 Fred Armisen & Bob’s Burgers 28. “You’re the Best” (Joe Esposito cover) “Nude Beach” 1:29 Sam Seder & Bob’s Burgers 29. “Mad Pooper” “Broadcast Wagstaff School News” 0:36 Will Forte, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 30. “Buckle it Up” “My Fuzzy Valentine” 0:06 H. Jon Benjamin, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 31. “Love Mission” “My Fuzzy Valentine” 0:16 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 32. “Two People” “My Fuzzy Valentine” 0:35 John Roberts, Larry Murphy, & Bob’s Burgers 33. “Can’t Get Enough (of Your Woman Stuff)” “Lindapendent Woman” 0:53 Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 34. “Funky Finger” “Lindapendent Woman” 0:28 Loren Bouchard, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 35. “This Is Working” “Lindapendent Woman” 1:02 H. John Benjamin, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 36. “Baby Hold On” (Eddie Money cover) “O.T. The Outside Toilet” 1:00 John Roberts, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 37. “Electric Love” (original version) “Topsy” 3:45 Megan Mullally, Kevin Kline, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, H. Jon Benjamin, Larry Murphy, Dan Mintz, John Roberts, Mark Proksch, Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 38. “T-I-N-A” “Two for Tina” 0:35 H. Jon Benjamin, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 39. “The Snake Song” “It Snakes a Village” 0:47 Eugene Mirman, John Dylan Keith, Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 40. “Fracas Foam” “Family Fracas” 0:35 Loren Bouchard, Jim Dauterive, & Bob’s Burgers 41. “The Kids Run the Restaurant” “The Kids Run the Restaurant” 0:38 John Roberts & Bob’s Burgers 42. 2A “Coal Mine” “Boyz 4 Now” 0:54 Scott Jacobson, Steven Davis, Kelvin Chow-Min Yu, & Bob’s Burgers 43. “Whisper in Your Eyes” “Boyz 4 Now” 1:16 Max Greenfield & Bob’s Burgers 44. “I Wanna Hear Your Secrets” “Boyz 4 Now” 0:52 Max Greenfield & Bob’s Burgers 45. “I Got a Yum Yum” “Carpe Museum” 1:07 John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, H. Jon Benjamin, Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 46. “Rain, Rain, Flash, Flash” “A River Runs Through Bob” 0:37 Dan Mintz, Dave Herman, Lindsey Stoddart, & Bob’s Burgers 47. “We’re Coming for Ya” “A River Runs Through Bob” 0:51 H. Jon Benjamin, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, John Roberts, Dan Mintz, Loren Bouchard, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 48. “Quickie Kiss It” “Seaplane!” 0:42 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 49. “Prankin'” “My Big Fat Greek Bob” 0:34 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 50. “Sneaky Pete” “My Big Fat Greek Bob” 1:36 Ken Jeong, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, H. Jon Benjamin, Nora Smith, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 51. “Gravy Boat” “Turkey in a Can” 0:41 Megan Mullally, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 52. “We Won the Talent Show” “Purple Rain-Union” 2:34 Sarah Silverman, Laura Silverman, & Bob’s Burgers

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53. “Derek Dematopolis” “Purple Rain-Union” 1:23 Megan Mullally, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 54. “Not Bad for Havin’ Three Kids” “Purple Rain-Union” 1:21 Megan Mullally, John Roberts, Lindsey Stoddart, & Bob’s Burgers 55. “Jingle in the Jungle” “Christmas in the Car” 0:51 Steven Davis, Kelvin Chow-Min Yu, & Bob’s Burgers 56. “Slumber Party Fashion Show” “Slumber Party” 0:54 Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, & Bob’s Burgers 57. “It’s Not Magic It’s Tragic” “Presto Tina-O” 0:35 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 58. “The Fart Song” “The Frond Files” 1:28 Eugene Mirman, Aziz Ansari, Kristen Schaal, H. Jon Benjamin, Dan Mintz, John Roberts, Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, Rachel Hastings, David Herman, & Bob’s Burgers 59. 2B “Hava Nagila (Traditional)” “Mazel Tina” 0:43 Dan Mintz & Bob’s Burgers 60. “Equestranauts Theme” “The Equestranauts” 1:13 Dan Mintz, H. Jon Benjamin, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, Larry Murphy, John Roberts, & Bob’s Burgers 61. “Nice Things Are Nice” “Wharf Horse” 1:42 H. Jon Benjamin, Kevin Kline, Jordan Peele, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, John Roberts, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 62. “Wharf of Wonder” “Wharf Horse” 0:39 John Roberts & Bob’s Burgers 63. “Bad Things Are Bad” “World Wharf II: The Wharfening” 2:09 H. Jon Benjamin, Kevin Kline, John Roberts, Zach Galifianakis, Jordan Peele, Paul F. Tompkins, Jenny Slate, Eugene Mirman, Larry Murphy, Laura Silverman, Bobby Tisdale, Brian Huskey, & Bob’s Burgers 64. “Die Hard/Working Girl Musical Medley” “Work Hard or Die Trying, Girl” 2:00 David Wain, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, Melissa Galsky, & Bob’s Burgers 65. “Work Hard or Die Trying, Girl” “Work Hard or Die Trying, Girl” 3:35 Laura Silverman, Sarah Silverman, Aziz Ansari, H. Jon Benjamin, Carly Simon, Kristen Schaal, Brian Huskey, John Roberts, David Wain, Eugene Mirman, Bobby Tisdale, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 66. “Jeff (Il Est Mort)” “Tina and the Real Ghost” 0:38 Loren Bouchard & Bob’s Burgers 67. “Your Best Friend” “Friends with Burger-fits” 0:40 John Roberts, Larry Murphy, & Bob’s Burgers 68. “Love Is in Control (Finger on the Trigger)” (Donna Summer cover) “Dawn of the Peck” 1:09 H. Jon Benjamin, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 69. “Christmas Magic” (original version) “Father of the Bob” 0:52 John Roberts, Larry Murphy, & Bob’s Burgers 70. “Happy Crappy Place” “Late Afternoon in the Garden of Bob & Louise” 1:15 H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, & Bob’s Burgers 71. “Darryl’s Slow Jam” “Can’t Buy Me Math” 0:55 Aziz Ansari, Chris Maxwell, & Bob’s Burgers 72. 3A “I’m Jimmy Jr. Pesto” “The Millie-Churian Candidate” 0:35 H. Jon Benjamin, Kristen Schaal, Sarah Silverman, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, Brian Huskey, & Bob’s Burgers 73. “The Sheriff Had a Piggy” “The Gayle Tales” 0:21 John Roberts, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, & Bob’s Burgers 74. “Lipstick on his Pickup” “The Gayle Tales” 0:28 Megan Mullally, Eugene Mirman, Larry Murphy, & Bob’s Burgers 75. “I’ll Trade You These Tears/I Won’t Go Solo on You” “The Gayle Tales” 1:16 John Roberts, Megan Mullally, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, Rich Fulcher, & Bob’s Burgers 76. “Shimmy Tap” “Li’l Hard Dad” 0:46 John Roberts & Bob’s Burgers 77. “Date Night” “Adventures in Chinchilla-Sitting” 0:53 John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, Kristen Schaal, & Bob’s Burgers 78. “Don’t You Love Cotton Candy” “The Runway Club” 1:01 John Roberts, Dave Herman, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, & Bob’s Burgers 79. “Jam with Darryl” “The Itty Bitty Ditty Committee” 0:18 Aziz Ansari, Eugene Mirman, & Bob’s Burgers 80. “His Name is Lenny” “The Itty Bitty Ditty Committee” 0:56 Aziz Ansari, Brian Huskey, Eugene Mirman, H. Jon Benjamin, & Bob’s Burgers 81. “I Don’t Need Music” “The Itty Bitty Ditty Committee” 0:49 Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, Dan Mintz, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 82. “I Want Some Burgers and Fries” “The Itty Bitty Ditty Committee” 0:42 Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, Aziz Ansari, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 83. “BM in the PM” “Eat, Spray, Linda” 0:51 John Roberts, Chris Maxwell, & Bob’s Burgers 84. “I’m Falling for Helen” “Eat, Spray, Linda” 0:40 Larry Murphy, Tim Dacey, & Bob’s Burgers 85. “99 Red Balloons” (Nena cover) “The Oeder Games” 1:26 H. Jon Benjamin, Kevin Kline, & Bob’s Burgers 86. “It’s Called Fate (And It’s Great)” “Sliding Bobs” 0:45 Dan Mintz, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, Ron Lynch, Sam Seder, John Dylan Keith, Loren Bouchard, & Bob’s Burgers 87. “I Love You So Much (It’s Scary)” “The Hauntening” 2:45 Max Greenfield, H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Dan Mintz, Eugene Mirman, Kristen Schaal, Steven Davis, Kelvin Chow-Min Yu, & Bob’s Burgers 88. “It’s Thanksgiving for Everybody” “Gayle Makin’ Bob Sled” 1:13 H. Jon Benjamin, Megan Mullally, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, Dan Mintz, Eugene Mirman, & Bob’s Burgers 89. 3B “The Spirits of Christmas” (full-length version) “Nice-Capades” 3:05 Kevin Kline & Bob’s Burgers 90. “The Nice-Capades” “Nice-Capades” 2:28 Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz, Kristen Schaal, John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, Larry Murphy, & Bob’s Burgers 91. “Amor por Favor (Me Llamo Tina)” “The Cook, the Steve, the Gayle & Her Lover” 0:37 Dan Mintz, Kristen Schaal, & Bob’s Burgers 92. “It’s Valentine’s Day” “The Gene & Courtney Show” 1:01 Eugene Mirman, David Wain, Melissa Galsky, Bobby Tisdale, & Bob’s Burgers 93. “Hot Ham and Cheese Day” “The Gene & Courtney Show” 0:38 David Wain, Loren Bouchard, Tim Dacey, & Bob’s Burgers 94. “Cease and Desist” “Sexy Dance Healing” 0:47 John Roberts, H. Jon Benjamin, Jon Glaser, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 95. “Muse Dance” “Sexy Dance Healing” 0:37 John Roberts, Loren Bouchard, Tim Dacey, & Bob’s Burgers 96. “If You Love Something” “Sacred Couch” 0:38 Jordan Peele, John Roberts, Chris Maxwell, Scott Jacobson, & Bob’s Burgers 97. “Fart Stools (for the Gifted)” “Lice Things Are Lice” 0:37 Bob’s Burgers 98. “Do the Dirty Pigeon” “House of 1000 Bounces” 0:40 Loren Bouchard, Chris Maxwell, H. Jon Benjamin, & Bob’s Burgers 99. “Two Butted Goat” “Stand by Gene” 0:46 Bobby Tisdale, Eugene Mirman, & Bob’s Burgers 100. “Butt Phone” “Wag the Hog” 0:44 Robert Ben Garant, John Dylan Keith, & Bob’s Burgers 101. “Breaking Out” “The Hormone-iums” 0:39 Dan Mintz, H. Jon Benjamin, Aziz Ansari, Rachel Hastings, Dave Herman, & Bob’s Burgers 102. “Mononucleosis” “The Hormone-iums” 0:35 Dan Mintz, H. Jon Benjamin, Aziz Ansari, & Bob’s Burgers 103. “Just What I Needed” (The Cars cover) “The Hormone-iums” 1:44 Dan Mintz, H. Jon Benjamin, Loren Bouchard, John Dylan Keith, John Roberts, Dave Herman, Bobby Tisdale & Bob’s Burgers 104. “I Love Charades” “Pro Tiki/Con Tiki” 0:52 Chris Parnell, Chris Maxwell, & Bob’s Burgers 105. “I’m Tall Enough” “Bye Bye Boo Boo” 0:44 Max Greenfield & Bob’s Burgers 106. “Yat Dat Dat Da” “The Horse Rider-er” 0:37 Paul Rudd, Dan Mintz, & Bob’s Burgers 107. “Bad Stuff Happens in the Bathroom” (original version) “Glued, Where’s My Bob?” 2:30 H. Jon Benjamin, Kristen Schaal, Dan Mintz, Eugene Mirman, John Roberts, Tim Dacey, Loren Bouchard, Nora Smith, Steven Davis, Kelvin Chow-Min Yu, Jim Dauterive, Jonathan Peter Schroeder, Wendy Molyneux, Lizzie Molyneux, Rachel Hastings, Larry Murphy, Jay Johnston, & Bob’s Burgers 108. 7″A “Bad Girls” (Bob’s Buskers version) N/A 1:54 St. Vincent & Bob’s Burgers 109. “Electric Love” (Bob’s Buskers version) N/A 1:41 Stephin Merritt, Kenny Mellman, & Bob’s Burgers 110. 7″B “Sailors In Your Mouth” (Bob’s Buskers version) N/A 2:29 The National & Bob’s Burgers 111. “Christmas Magic” (Bob’s Buskers version) N/A 1:19 The National & Bob’s Burgers 112. “Bad Stuff Happens in the Bathroom” (Bob’s Buskers version) N/A 2:43 The National, Låpsley, & Bob’s Burgers

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Bob’s Burgers Music Album Coming This May was originally published on Sound Renaissance

[mindstreason]

“So, what awful thing did you do to end up here?” Basalt asked, with the smallest of smiles.

“Uh,” Cat said, utterly blank.  

Cat had known Basalt was the person he was meeting as soon as he had walked into this hall. This was a strange, quiet garden, full of plants that consisted of delicate green fronds. The walkways were made out of gravel, opening every so often into areas with small ponds and little benches. It smelled of green things and there was a gentle sound of water flowing in little constructed streams to break up the space. Up above, more plants were suspended from the ceiling, some of them in full flower. Cat had to make it all the way to the other side of the station to come here, and it would have been worth coming just to look at this place. But as beautiful as it was, the most beautiful thing in there was Basalt.

No one had needed to describe Basalt to him. Who else could sit on a bench with such grace, imbued with it from the first moment of self-awareness. Cat wondered if he was that obvious too. Basalt’s skin was pale, and his hair was the richest shade of brown that Cat had ever seen. When he turned his head to look at Cat, his almond-shaped eyes were so dark that they were almost black. It was an unnatural colour, giving Basalt’s face an interesting sort of austerity, making all his delicate features seem starker. He had inclined his head to Cat in invitation with such self-possession that it was utterly alien to Cat, and Cat had sat down next to him as obediently as if he had been ordered to come over.

“None of us end up here because we were sweet and cute and behaved,” Basalt said, his smile widening. “So what did you do?”

“Um,” Cat said, feeling like he was being made fun of. He stared at Basalt’s hands, noticing that the fingernails were not painted black like he had thought, but that they were some other material entirely.

“I’ll go first, then,” Basalt said. “I opened the door for what I knew was a kill squad and didn’t warn anyone. I had been secretly fucking one of them, you see. I knew she was just manipulating me and I worked out what they wanted to do. But I wanted to see how they would do it.”

Cat stared. He supposed that he must say something. “I. Killed my owner.”

“How?”

“I stabbed him while he and the infiltrator were fighting.”

“Why?”

“I thought… I loved the infiltrator. And I wanted to help him.”

“Interesting,” Basalt said. “The infiltrator really did a number on you, huh?”

Cat frowned and lowered his gaze. “Yes,” he said, after a while. He was starting to understand exactly how much he had been used.

“You shouldn’t feel bad. They make them to do terrible things,” Basalt said, his voice very kind for a moment. He knew how these things worked. “You didn’t have a chance.”

“Oh,” Cat said.

Gently, Basalt placed his hands on either side of the Cat’s face and tilted it one way and then the other, assessing. “How many owners did you have?”

“Um,” Cat said, flustered by the warmth of Basalt’s hands. “Just one.”

“Ah, you’re a baby,” Basalt said. Somehow it did not feel mocking. “You’re very lucky.”

“He didn’t treat me nicely,” Cat had to point out.

“No, I expect not,” Basalt said, with a profound lack of surprise. “You wouldn’t have stabbed him if he had.”

When Basalt stroked Cat’s cheek with the back of his fingers, Cat closed his eyes and leaned into it. Basalt knew exactly how to do that to make it feel just lovely. Cat sighed softly.

“Why did you ask to see us?” Basalt asked.

“Um,” Cat said. “I wanted to know.”

“I see,” Basalt answered blandly. “Zuza did not want to meet you, in case it upset her. I hope you don’t mind. Sayi is away on mission. Arc is currently on Nine. That is all of us.”

“Oh,” Cat said. It did not seem very many people at all.

Basalt smiled, seeing Cat’s disappointment. “Why did you really want to see us? Are you lonely?”

Cat frowned, not knowing how to parse those two questions. What was even loneliness? How could he be lonely with so many people around?

“You don’t even know yourself,” Basalt said, with gentle amusement. “I brought tea and cakes, just in case I liked you.”

Cat blinked. Did this mean that Basalt liked him? He watched Basalt take a flask and plain cups out of the bag beside the bench. The tea was a pale yellow, and Cat sniffed it when he lifted the cup. It was not his favourite, but it was okay. “What if you didn’t like me?”

“You’re too young for me to be mean to you,” Basalt said, choosing not to answer the question.

The little cakes were dark brown and tasted very rich. Cat chewed one and watched Basalt, wondering why Basalt did not want to answer his previous question. He did not try again, asking instead, “Why are you called Basalt?”

“That is a very rude question,” Basalt answered, with a small smile.

Cat thought that Basalt did not seem to mind rude questions considering how the conversation started. “I looked it up. Basalt is a type of rock.” It did not seem like a very nice name.

Basalt’s smile faded a little. He came to a decision, and spoke, “I used to imagine I was stone when things I didn’t like were being done to me. I’d fold my mind inside while my body did all the things it should. After a while, you have to learn these little tricks to keep your mind together. So when I was here, and when my engineer asked me to form a network image of myself, that was what I chose. I refined it later, during my training, to the image I use now. Did your sponsor or engineer Sometime During Eternity tell you anything about me?”

“No,” Cat said. Ghost had simply told Cat where it was. Ghost had seemed to think that going was a good thing, though. Cat knew him enough to be able to tell that.

“How very kind of them,” Basalt said, with a hint of amusement.

Below Basalt’s warm tone was something cold, but Cat could not imagine what that was. Cat felt that he was in the presence of something very dangerous, for all that Basalt had done nothing for him to feel that way. He did not know whether to trust his instinct in that way. It reminded him a little of how the infiltrator had made him feel. He picked up another little cake when Basalt pushed it over and nibbled on it. They were really good. Cat wondered who had made them. He washed it down with sips of tea, deciding that he liked Basalt anyway.

“I like that you don’t know anything about me. It is like being a new thing again,” Basalt said, with a small smile. “I will tell you that here, on Shatterpoint, I mostly teach, and I help some people that have sexual problems.”

Cat frowned, understanding immediately that this was a redacted explanation of what Basalt did. The ‘on Shatterpoint’ had been very specific. “Like Ghost teaches on Shatterpoint?”

“Hmm, something like that,” Basalt said, his smile widening. “Your file says that you turn up to all your lessons and work in one of the agricultural labs.”

“Yes…” Cat said. That did summarise his life.

“Who have you fucked since you arrived here?” Basalt asked. He was curious, and that was not in the file.

“Um,” Cat said, and flushed.  “No one.”

Basalt laughed. “No one? Are you serious?”

“I have… Some things to use,” Cat said, embarrassed to have Basalt laugh at him like that. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay? Poor you,” Basalt teased gently. “I’d go mad.”

“I miss it,” Cat admitted.

“I feel like I should fix that,” Basalt said, leaving a gap for Cat to say something. But Cat said nothing for so long that eventually Basalt gave him a pitying look. “Would you like to come back to my room and fuck?”

“Yes,” Cat said, immediately eager now that he knew that it was on offer. He started to stand up.

“Can we finish the tea first?” Basalt asked, pulling Cat back down.

“Oh,” Cat said, feeling his ears burn, and feeling the place where Basalt had touched him like he was branded there. “Yes.”

“Is there anyone you would like to fuck?” Basalt said lightly.

“You,” Cat said, because that was a good answer, the sort of answer someone would like to hear.

Basalt laughed. The attempt at seduction was rather funny. It would have worked better on someone less prepared. “Yes, but who else?” Basalt prompted.

“Ghost,” Cat answered, deciding to be honest. “But he’s. Not interested. And Zinn.”

“Zinn?” Basalt said. “Not a lot of people would say that. What do you like about him?”

“I like the way he moves,” Cat said. Zinn moved like he could break every single bone in Cat’s body effortlessly, but he always chose not to. There was something appealing in that.

“Hmm,” Basalt said, thinking about it. “I can see that. Anyone else? Is it just men?”

“I like Warm As The Moon too,” Cat admitted.

“You really have a type, don’t you?” Basalt said.

“Uh,” Cat said, awkwardly, feeling like he had been caught.

“You are allowed to like certain things more,” Basalt said, knowing what trap Cat had fallen into.

Cat sipped his tea, looking at Basalt. “Have you been here for a long time?”

“Yes,” Basalt answered, not wanting to be specific. “You get used to it,” he added, with a smile, like this was some sort of private joke. “We can get used to anything.”

“Yes,” Cat agreed, the delivery jolting the memories of his training. Basalt was older and made in a different place, but he would have learned many of the same things.

Basalt glanced over to see that Cat’s cup was empty. He offered Cat the last of the cakes as he put things away. Cat ate it with enthusiasm, like he had eaten the ones before. Basalt knew that same pleasure of the senses. “Do you still want to go with me?”

Cat blinked. “Of course.” Basalt had given him the time to change his mind. That had been very kind, but entirely unnecessary.

“Come on, then.”

Corridors around here were much older than where Cat lived, but the living quarters that Basalt led Cat to were much the same as all the other living quarters on the station. No one was in the common area. Basalt opened the door of one of the single apartments.

“You don’t live with anyone?” Cat asked, somehow surprised.

“No,” Basalt answered. “I am not very good at it.”

Cat looked around curiously. The front room did not have much furniture, just a low table and a couple of cushions for sitting on the floor. The bedroom door was open and Cat could see that the bed was very low. Basalt’s things were all on the shelves. Cat could see jewellery, bits of tech, make up, little tools whose purpose Cat could not guess, bits of bright cloth, combs and hair things. It seemed like Basalt owned a lot of needles. Cat could not imagine why.

“I still prefer being on the floor,” Basalt said, a little wry, watching Cat look at the cushions again.

“Oh,” Cat said, understanding perfectly. “I like your plant.” It was a little tree that took up the whole corner of the front room, its roots wrapped around a dark rock.

“Thank you, it was a gift,” Basalt answered. He put away the cups and the tea flask while Cat hovered in the middle of the room. “When we do this, do not touch my hair, and do not touch the back of my neck. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Cat said. Rules were rules.

“Is there anywhere you do not like to be touched?”

Cat had never been asked this question before. He stared.

Basalt snorted. “It’s fine if you don’t know what to say,” he said. “But you should tell me if I do anything you don’t like.”

“Oh, okay,” Cat said, standing like he was waiting for orders.

“You can leave whenever you like,” Basalt reminded, before he stepped in close to touch Cat’s side.

“Okay,” Cat repeated. He turned to press his face against Basalt’s cheek. It was funny, Basalt seemed so much taller, but they were almost the same height. He shivered at Basalt’s hands slid under his clothes.

“Do you like to kiss?”

“Yes,” Cat answered. He knew that. He turned into the kiss. Basalt would know how to kiss, gently tasting his mouth. After being untouched for so long, Cat was hard in seconds. He pressed himself against Basalt’s thigh.

“You’re lovely,” Basalt said.

Cat smiled at the compliment, helping Basalt undress him. It was short work to lose the shirt and trousers and underwear. Cat shivered. He had not been naked like this in front of someone for a while. Basalt took a step back to admire him, and Cat smiled again, liking being looked at like that.

“Your owner didn’t mark you,” Basalt said, curious as he stepped around Cat.

Cat turned on his heel, wanting to look at Basalt too. “My engineer says some of my bones didn’t heal straight.”

“Ah, so you’re marked on the inside,” Basalt said. When Cat reached to take his clothes off, he took a step back and removed them himself, dropping them to the floor. He did it seductively, sliding each piece off like he had been trained to, but his smile told Cat that this was a kind of joke, a kind of showing off, a kind of game. “Do you like what you see?”

Cat stared at the scar on Basalt’s stomach.

“My fourth owner shot me. For fun. He wanted to see if that would heal too,” Basalt explained. It did not sound like he told that to many people. “It did,” he finished, dry. “We’re very hard to kill.”

“Oh,” Cat said. He stepped over to Basalt, smoothly sinking to his knees. He pressed his lips to the scar lightly, feeling Basalt twitch.

“Don’t do that,” Basalt said, so Cat kissed down along the hip, nosing into Basalt’s pubic hair. Basalt’s breath hitched as Cat’s tongue curled around the tip of his dick, and Cat felt victorious. Basalt’s fingers tangled into Cat’s hair and Cat moaned, breathlessly eager for anything at all.

“You want to blow me?” Basalt asked.

Cat answered by taking Basalt’s cock into his mouth. It felt like the first choice he had ever made when he heard Basalt laugh and swear. Basalt had not expected that. Cat pulled back to lick the head before he decided to swallow the whole thing down, effortlessly, because he had been made to do that. It was a weird feeling to know that he really could just stop and go back to where he lived. He pulled back when he was out of breath, and Basalt let him draw back. He wanted Basalt to come down his throat, he wanted to swallow it all. So much want. He let his body move with it, and soon Basalt came with a quiet sound. Cat sat back on his heels and licked his lips, smiling, feeling triumphant that he got any sound at all out of Basalt.

“Don’t look so smug,” Basalt teased. “Come to bed with me.”

Cat lay on his back at Basalt’s gentle shove. He spread his legs, wanting Basalt to see him like this, his cock leaking and hard.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” Basalt said, but he made the compliment into a simple statement of fact. He found lubricant, so his hand was slick when he wrapped it around Cat’s dick. Cat whined when he pressed his thumb over the frenulum and then into the slit, almost bucking away. Basalt made his touches lighter, figuring out slowly what it was that got the best noises out of Cat.

“Do you want more?” Basalt asked.

“Yes,” Cat answered, breathlessly honest. It was easy to be like this when he knew what Basalt was. “Want you. Inside me.”

When Basalt slid one finger inside Cat, he almost forgot to breathe. The second finger made him moan, because here his silence was not required. He arched his back for the third finger and whined at the fourth. He came shuddering as Basalt spread his fingers as if seeing how far he could stretch Cat out.

“So that’s how it is,” Basalt said, amused, and licked the come off Cat’s stomach.

Cat smiled, rolling onto his side to watch Basalt. He took Basalt’s hand and licked the fingers clean, sucking each one into his mouth, and staring into Basalt’s dark eyes. He did not need to look to know Basalt was getting hard again.

“How do you want it?” Basalt asked, touching Cat’s side lightly.

Cat considered, and then rolled over onto his stomach. He found that he did not care, but something told him Basalt might prefer it that way. He raised his ass, offering himself, his spine arched perfectly, and finding utter satisfaction in how his body liked this. He groaned as Basalt filled him up, the first cock in forever. Everything in him exulted in feeling Basalt’s hands on his hips, the weight above him. He moved together with Basalt, shivering as he felt Basalt’s lips on the back of his neck.

“Yes,” Basalt said, “Come for me,” he ordered, and Cat did, instantly, momentarily undone.

Basalt gave him a minute only, and then Cat was whining as Basalt licked the come out of him, taking unnecessarily long about it. He came again without Basalt touching his dick at all. Basalt licked that up too.

“No one’s done that. To me,” Cat said, a little stunned.

“I bet,” Basalt said. He left Cat, but only to bring over a glass of water. He made Cat drink some and eat a couple of sweet biscuits that tasted mostly of sugar.

“Are we done?” Cat asked.

“Do you want us to be done?” Basalt asked.

“No,” Cat said.

“Then we are just having a break,” Basalt said, settling on the bed next to Cat. “Kiss me when you want more.”

Cat rolled over to kiss him immediately.

Basalt laughed into his mouth. “Like that, is it, darling? Ride me.”

Cat straddled Basalt’s hips. He touched Basalt’s dick lightly, until it was hard, and then lowered himself on it. He liked this, being able to set the pace himself, and he moved his body sinuously, feeling Basalt fuck up into him. Every time, he got to know Basalt’s body better. He watched Basalt’s face as Basalt came inside him this time, seeing how Basalt only half-closed his eyes.

“How many times will I have to fuck you until you’re happy?” Basalt joked, but he was willing enough to find out, amused at how Cat seemed to need to make up for all the lack of sex in one day.

At the end of it all, Cat lay on his side, sticky and pleasantly exhausted, Basalt against his back, nosing sweat-damp hair. He watched how Basalt’s thumb was gently stroking his hand, all relaxed. He realised now what the material of the nail reminded him of – it was similar stuff to Ghost’s armour.

“Basalt, what happened to your nails?” Cat asked.

“They stop growing back properly if they’re pulled out too often,” Basalt said, matter-of-fact.

Cat froze as he imagined that pain, infinitely relieved Nicias had always liked hitting best, and he relaxed only when he remembered to think about the way that Basalt was now gently kissing the back of his neck.

“That’s it, come back, darling,” Basalt said. “Sorry.”

Cat let out a shuddering breath. “Why did they do that to you?” he asked, wanting to know, and steeled against it this time.

“They liked to hear me scream, I suppose. I didn’t think about the why too much,” Basalt answered. He kissed Cat’s ear. “My nails weren’t all growing back right. That’s why I had them all replaced. This is better, don’t you think?” He flexed his fingers in front of Cat.

“I don’t know,” Cat said, thinking it would have been much better if they hadn’t needed replacing at all.

“Do you intend to sleep here?” Basalt asked.

Instead of answering, Cat said, “Basalt, have you ever killed anyone?”

There was a long silence. Basalt took in a slow breath. “Darling. Why are you asking me that?”

“I don’t know,” Cat answered, though he knew already he had asked the wrong question. He had meant: Basalt, how many people have you killed? He could not ask it again now, though.

“I’ll talk to you about it when you can give me a good reason for wanting to know.”

“Oh,” Cat said, relaxing again under the weight of Basalt’s arm over him. “I think I’ll stay. If that’s okay?”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

Cat fell asleep with Basalt slowly stroking his side, feeling safer than he had ever felt with anyone.

[daniel-browne]

The Sound of My Own Voice

I mentioned a while back that the folks at Profane Journal would be posting an audio recording of my story “The Happening” to accompany the print version in their winter issue. Well, that recording is finally up on Profane’s site [UPDATE: Never mind! The recording was taken down, probably never to return. But please, read on...]. If you happen to both read the text and listen to the audio — a) where have you been all my life, my one true superfan? b) you may have noticed there’s more than a little variation between the two versions.

There’s an embarrassing reason for that: I actually submitted the wrong file to Profane, and by the time I realized my mistake, an earlier draft of the story had already been published. Whoops!

The differences have more to do with language than with character or plot, but they’re significant enough to me that I’m going to take the liberty of posting the text of the audio version after the jump. Thanks to Patrick and his colleagues at Profane for their patience--and to you, dedicated reader, for yours. I also recorded an interview with Patrick that I hope to be able share soon. In the meantime, please enjoy “The Happening 2.0,” a.k.a. “The Director’s Cut,” a.k.a. “Once More with Feeling.”

The Happening

Things I was pissed about that morning by the time I got to the subway:

1)    A hard pellet lodged in my inner thigh. Probably just an ingrown hair, but at my age, you start to wonder if there’s such a thing as cancer of the inseam.

2)    Fruit flies infesting the apartment. What were they living on? I hadn’t left so much as a spoon unrinsed in weeks.

3)    The downstairs neighbors’ son, blotchy piglet in girl jeans, barreling over my foot with his scooter in the hall.

4)    The heat, the end-days persecution of it. At the last minute, I’d decided I couldn’t stand to wear a tie, but the big-collared dress shirt I had on gave me a seedy Studio 54 look when I unbuttoned it at the neck. Wasn’t enough I was heading into the inferno; it had to be a disco inferno.

So my ducts were already humming with bile when I saw them: the same pair of twenty-somethings who’d posted themselves at the entrance to my station all week, the guy balding but shaggy around the ears and neck, glasses thick, mustache thicker; the girl big-limbed and weak-chinned. Both were tofu pale and dressed head to foot in buttercup yellow, him in a polyester suit, her in a crinoline wedding dress. My eye was drawn to the button on his lapel. I was still too far away to read it, but I remembered what it said: “Ask about our happy beginnings.”

They were doing what they’d been doing every day that week, greeting people, loudly, boisterously even, as they headed downstairs to the station, giving them each a theatrical send-off: “Have an awesome day!” “Go get ’em!” “Smile! You made it this far!” “Great hair!” Some of my fellow commuters did a quick double-take; others stared dazedly as if they couldn’t take in what they were seeing. A few smirked, a few scowled. Most just ignored them, shouldering their way through the gauntlet. Live here long enough, you learn not to engage.

At a certain point, though, enough is enough. I could take the Chabadniks with their palm fronds, sizing me up (Jewish or just oppressed?); the ranting Jamaican women on the subway, fired up with rage for Christ; the resurrected newspaper hawkers, trilling the latest department store promotion as if it were Dewey Beats Truman. They had their job to do, and at least they were sincere about it. But these buttercups radiated smarm. Their incursion was worse than a nuisance, worse than a gag—it was an art project, an ironic commentary on our working-stiff existence. I resolved then and there not to let it pass. I stopped in front of the guy and put my hand on his shoulder.

“Let me talk to you for a second,” I said, steering him toward the curb before he had a chance to answer. His friend looked like she wanted to say something—this was clearly more audience participation than they’d bargained for. I turned my back on her.

A cigarette-stained smile peaked out from under my captive’s mustache. “Would you like to hear about our happy beginnings?” His voice was deeper than I would’ve guessed, like some old cowpoke.

“Are you offering me a hand job?”

He reached out for my shoulder, so we each had a hold of the other. “I’m offering you a heart job.”

I snorted, actually snorted. “How about a job job? You got one of those? Because I do. All these people do. And we’re just trying to get to work with our dignity intact.”

The grayish skin around his eyes puckered, as if my words pained him. “The modern world, right? But it doesn’t have to be that way. That’s why we’re out here, to let people know it’s okay to lighten up.”

“Lighten up?”

He gave me the you-listen-well-Grasshopper slow-nod. Unbelievable!

“You think I’m some corporate drone just because I’m wearing a suit and tie?” I asked him.

“You’re not wearing a tie.”

Damn. Forgot I’d ditched it. “The point is my job is not my problem. My problem is getting profiled first thing in the morning by a hipster art school drop-out.”

His face fell. “That is so not what we’re going for.”

We stood there eyeing each other. My neck was sweaty, my pulse sputtering. I seemed to have hurt his feelings, which only aggravated me more. The whole pointless exchange called for some incisive gesture.

Which is why I grabbed his arm and said, “Come with me.” His partner shouted, “Hey!” breaking character, but he just held up his palms and grinned. He was going with it, letting the magic happen. Some people stopped to gawk as I dragged him down to the subway. I got the sense I was making his day.  

***

Lila, my deputy, looked at my new day-glo sidekick—his name was Jake—and back at me.

“Neil, is this your son?”

Until that moment, I hadn’t noticed the resemblance: sallow complexion, fleshy nose, unruly hair everywhere but our heads. I swatted away the suggestion as if it were a fruit fly on my yogurt.

“Lila, this is Jake. We met on my way in this morning. He’s going to be helping out today.”

Lila cocked her head to the side. Her mouth made a little ‘o.’ “Are you a lawyer, Jake? Communications? HR?”

Jake said, “I’m a lifeguard at Guantanamo Bay.”

Lila let one eloquent eyebrow do the talking.

Was I in love with Lila? Being happily, or at least uneventfully, married and a good fifteen years older, I tried not to think it all the way through. She was, however, without a doubt, the best part of my day: her green eyes and Roman nose, pale freckled legs sheathed in quietly chic skirts, the way she languorously cracked her back in long meetings, her brisk wit and head for numbers. I needed her to be with me on this.

“Just think of him like an intern,” I told her.

“Is he an intern? Because that means paperwork, orientation…”

“Like an intern,” I said.

Jake stepped in front of me. “It’s a Trading Places kind of thing.”

“No.” I pulled him back by the lapel. “Nobody’s trading places.”

Lila sighed through her nose. I could see her deciding whether to be testy.

Jake smacked his hands together so loudly, Lila’s shoulders jumped. “So, what’s on the agenda?”

***

First meeting of the morning. I could’ve picked a better day to prove my job wasn’t soul-crushing.

I’m chief counsel for a nonprofit that helps poor people sign up for benefits—food stamps, Medicaid, rent subsidies. Actually, most of the touchy-feely stuff gets outsourced to smaller organizations. We handle the contract administration, technical assistance, IT. Sounds boring because it is. I can barely talk to my wife about it, let alone our dinner guests, but hey, at least they’re under the impression I’m doing some good, which is more than a lot of my law school pals can say.

They might not be under that impression for much longer. Lately, we’d been leaning so hard on our partners to make their enrollment numbers (that’s how you keep your government funders happy), some of their minimum-wage staff had started cheating: caseworker says to client, “Great news! You qualify for food stamps”; client says, “I’m already getting food stamps”; caseworker says, “Good for you! Would you mind signing this form saying I helped you enroll?” That kind of thing. Times reporter gets an anonymous tip, does some poking around, next thing you know the State Attorney is after us for defrauding the taxpayer.

It fell to me to clean house. I led the internal investigation, recommended a round of firings, instituted mandatory ethics training for all staff and subcontractors. Made me a real popular guy. One minor term of our settlement with the State Attorney was that we agreed to draft a “core values document”—don’t ask—and Lila suggested we give the staff a say, make them feel like they had a stake in rebuilding the organization’s reputation.

So there I was, sitting at a conference table with about a dozen junior staffers, mostly admin and program officers, Lila standing behind me at a dry erase board, red marker poised, Jake on my right, winking and shooting finger guns at anyone who made eye contact. Lila had introduced him as a volunteer, and no one asked any questions. They had their own worries—like how many job interviews they could book during the workday before someone noticed they were missing.

Words Lila already had up on the board in her neat, faintly jazzy hand: “Integrity.  Respect. Trustworthy. Transparency. Accountability. Conscientious.” The room had been smothered in silence for at least a minute now. All around the table, shoulders were drooping, eyes flicking down to laps, beckoned by the thrum of smartphones. My role was chief listener, otherwise I might have added a few suggestions of my own. Is “unfraudy” a word? How about “justamiddlemantarianism”? A fleeting glimpse of armpit hair through Lila’s shirt brought a few others to mind: “musk,” “European,” “all-nighter,” “trial separation.”

I was about to pull the plug when Jake raised his hand. That got him a ripple of giggles. I looked at him and waited, but he seemed to want me to officially give him the floor. I said his name, wondering if he was going to ask my permission to go to the bathroom.

“Aren’t all those words kind of…boring?” He stage-whispered “boring” and glanced to his left and right.

“Sorry, everyone, I forgot to mention the purpose of this meeting is to entertain our guest.” I was hoping for some giggles of my own, but no one took the bait.

Jake stood and joined Lila at the board, the better to address the group. “Don’t get me wrong. ‘Accountability’ is cool. But it wouldn’t make me excited to get up and go to work in the morning. I mean, who ever said, ‘I wish I could find a job where they let me be conscientious’?”  

The giggles escalated to full-on laughter, accompanied by scattered nods. I chipped in a smile of my own, good sport that I am.

“I hear you. But the core values document isn’t meant to be a recruiting tool.”

“But we could make it one, right?” Lila said, tapping her chin with the marker. “We all know this place doesn’t have the best reputation right now. We need to do something to attract new talent.”

“And keep the old talent.” That comment, from a muscular data analyst whose name I’d never committed to memory, met with an approving murmur.

“Okay, but I need specific suggestions.” I could hear how pissy I sounded, like I’d run for student council president and been elected secretary.

The group turned to their new leader. Jake stroked his mustache. “Well, how about ‘fun’? Or ‘joy’? Or ‘creativity’?”

“Like Google!” the data analyst said.

In my mind, the conference table vanished and we were all sitting on gumdrop-colored exercise balls. For some reason, the image gave me a chill.

“Look, those are lovely suggestions. So is world peace. But I’ve got to report back to the senior staff and then the board, and they need to see that you put serious thought into this.”

Would I be arguing if Jake wasn’t the one leading this little visioning session? The whole point of the exercise, after all, was for the rank and file to feel like management was listening to them. The board might even jump at the idea of turning the office into a campus for free-spirited creatives. The only problem is that contract administration isn’t creative. Quality assurance isn’t joyous.

Try telling that to Jake, though. He’d taken the magic marker from Lila and drawn two exclamation points around the word “fun,” Spanish style.

Lila studied the board. “Neil’s right. We need some concrete examples.”

Dee, the head of our LGBT center, lifted her finger like a bidder at auction. “At the end of the day, this is supposed to be about the client, right? Well, who could use a little joy more than they? When someone shows up at the center, they is in a bad place. If we can make the screening more fun, then they is already better off than when they came in.”

Dee picked up the non-binary pronouns at social work school. From a legal standpoint, the safest policy was to ignore it, and that’s what I’d always done.  

Jake gave Dee a look of profound understanding, hugging her with his hound-dog eyes.

“Yes, they is,” he said. “Yes, they is.”

***

That’s when I excused myself. Lila knew I was lying about having a scheduling conflict.  I cringed inside, imagining how I must have looked to her, but it couldn’t be helped. The probably cancerous BB in my thigh felt hot, itchy; I needed to regroup. I left them under Jake’s spell and hightailed it to the sandwich shop around the corner.

The low-end outpost of a TV chef, the place was slammed from morning till closing. Even now, in the lull between the AM crush and lunch, I was stuck in a chain gang of fashion flacks with vocal fry and cheap-suited business bros. The former tended to avoid eye contact as they ordered their giant lattes, flicking at their devices; the latter played the regular card like it was their ace in the hole: “Where’s my favorite at? Whoa, you cut your hair! What’s your boyfriend think of that? The usual, only make it skim. Got to keep it tight for you, right?” The counter crew engaged as much as civility demanded, but they never let the machine stall. They understood, better than my co-workers, the job at hand, what was called for (efficient service) and what wasn’t (social validation).

I was waiting behind a dirty blonde in a sleeveless fur vest and Uggs. The world’s her reality show, I thought; her server, like everyone with dark skin, an extra at best. And yet, when he handed over her chai and change, she said, “Thanks, Marlon,” and he said, “Okay, see you tomorrow.” I’d been ordering from the same guy—sleepy eyes, pencil mustache—for at least a year. Why didn’t I know his name?

“Off today?” Marlon asked me as I stepped up to the register.

Off how, I wanted to ask. Maybe I could use some social validation after all. I blinked back at him, tongue limp.

Marlon tugged his collar. “No tie. Figured you was taking the day off.”

I’m not sure what I said, only that the tip I left in the plexiglass box was more than the price of the coffee.

***

I found a free table in the café area upstairs and fired up my phone. I’d forgotten to check the Times for a follow-up on the scandal. In the upper right corner of the homepage there was a link that said, “Personalize Your Weather.” Had that always been there? Sounded like something Jake would slap on a button.

All quiet on the PR front. I stared at the screen for another minute or two, but the news of the day slid off the surface of my mind. I let my attention wander around the room till it landed on a familiar sight in the corner: the resident fortune teller, ebony, imperious in a batik head wrap, arranging tarot cards in a cross. No one seemed to mind her setting up shop here. Her client’s back was to me, but I recognized her, too. The Hello Kitty backpack was a giveaway.

The fortune teller stared intently into her client’s face, dominated, I recalled, by bulky spectacles, too geeky to be a fashion statement.  

“Someone like you is required to have a website,” she said, tapping the card at the center of the cross.

The geek’s frizzy head bobbed up and down. I could see she was taking notes. “I just don’t know why they all have to be so mean to me. They’re supposed to be my friends.”

I leaned closer, my needle nearing red. How much was she paying this hustler? Why wasn’t she in school? If she was too old for school, what was with the backpack? Maybe her friends would go easier on her if she pulled herself together a little. That is, if they weren’t imaginary.

I considered a repeat of my morning performance. I could storm their table, march them back to the office, turn our internship program into a full-fledged rehab for dingbats and their enablers. But then I remembered the dingbat I’d already conscripted. My intervention needed an intervention. So I just sat there, in the grip of a hairy funk.

The fortune teller took hold of Hello Kitty’s wrist. “Look at me. We are alike. Strong, successful. For women like us, there will always be envy. In my life, too, there is someone who tries to cut me down. So you know what I do?”

Her nostrils flared. Kitty wobbled in her seat.

“I write her name down on a strip of paper. And I take that strip of paper to the kitchen and place it in a glass of water. And then I put that glass of water in the freezer. And I leave it there. So I know that bitch is froze.”

I could sense Kitty holding her breath. Or maybe it was me. The fortune teller’s speech must have been working its hoodoo on me. I felt light-headed watching Kitty scribble furiously in her notebook. Maybe a little self-help flimflam was just what she needed at this moment in her life. Maybe the junior staff needed meditation breaks and air hockey. Why fight it? Seriously, why? Christ, what was wrong with me? I closed my eyes and saw my name trapped in ice in somebody’s freezer.

***

When I got back to the office, Jake was sitting at the reception desk, a cross between Buddha and Groucho. We hadn’t had a receptionist in a while, one of those little efficiencies that made us competitive. As I swiped myself in, he rose to embrace a young woman with intricate cornrows. She was the organizer of our community outreach street team, not that I could recall her name.

“I want to hear how it all turns out,” he said, kneading her shoulders.

She gave him a sisterly push. “Oh, you just try getting rid of me now.”

I managed to squeak out a “Hi there,” as she slipped by me, but all I got in return was a slight flex of the lips, like I’d wandered out of quarantine.

Jake stood there with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “So many awesome people here.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I left him to his reverie.

Lila was perched on the edge of her desk, feet dangling. It took me a second to realize why the pose looked so odd: I’d never seen her unoccupied. But there was something else. If she hadn’t crossed her arms at the sight of me, I might not have picked up on it: Jake’s button—“Ask us about our happy beginnings”— pinned above her chest.

She caught me staring. “You don’t have to say it. I was wrong.”

Wooziness hit me again, hangover from my secondhand session with the fortune teller. Or maybe I was just tired. I went to loosen my tie, ended up pinching my Adam’s apple.

Lila didn’t seem to notice. “So…game plan? Bring him on as a consultant? Have him do a PD workshop with all the partners? I was thinking you could co-lead the new ethics training. You know, good cop, bad cop.”

The look on my face must have caught up with my state of mind. Lila lay her hand on my arm. “Sorry. Maybe think of it as old school cop, maverick cop. Like Lethal Weapon.”

I couldn’t remember her touching me before. My eyes followed her hand. A string of numbers was scrawled on it, so unlike Lila, her note-taking always as immaculate as her appearance. On either side of the numbers, smeared but just legible, was an exclamation point, upside down, then right side up. My heart buckled.

She took her hand back, let it wander to the nape of her neck. “Did you know he studied with Phillipe Petit?”

“Who?”

“Man on Wire? Walked a tightrope between the Twin Towers.”

Right, that guy. Never really got the point of what he did, but I admired the nerve of it, the sense of freedom. Like most New Yorkers, I bet. I thought to ask what exactly Jake had studied with him—whatever a tightrope walker is supposed to look like, Jake wasn’t it—but the words wouldn’t come. I really was worn out. I realized now there was no finishing what I’d started that morning. I couldn’t beat him. Only one sane thing left to do.

Making my tone as businesslike as I could manage, I told Lila to clear some time on my calendar.

***

It was still sweltering the next morning. Not a great day for loitering in the sun—and in polyester, no less. The suit was tight, and I was already clammy by the time the rush started. It was just me out there, a one-man street team; Jake’s partner wasn’t comfortable with our arrangement. So I had no lead to follow, no choice but to dig deep.

My first attempt was weak. A plump Indian woman in a fuchsia sari was maneuvering a flat screen TV in a granny cart around the pocks in the sidewalk. I mumbled, “Good to see you,” as she passed, but I couldn’t tell if she heard me. Next came a wiry black cyclist rocking lime-green Lycra, his Italian ten-speed at his side. He hoisted it as he approached the stairs to the station, and I pictured him taking up half a car, blocking the doors. My impulse was to say, “Why not ride the damn bike where you’re going?” but I tamped that down and instead went with, “Hey, nice wheels,” trying to throw some exclamation points around it. Guy gave me the finger.

A few people I knew from the neighborhood came my way. Most ignored me; either they didn’t recognize me out of context or they preferred to pretend they didn’t. A couple stopped to ask what I was doing. I told them it was a Trading Places thing.

I can’t say it got much easier. With each encounter, my voice tried to hide in my throat. But the fortune teller, my new consultant, had warned me to expect as much, so I kept going, for every sneer a smile, for every wisecrack a ray of sunshine, the whole time waiting to feel the thaw.